BRAVE HEARTS
by Mike Shannon
Summary: The eighth Doctor travels to the Eye of Orion and reflects on his early visits to Earth and meeting Susan's Grandmother.


BRAVE HEARTS

"This is just what I needed," thought the Doctor as he reclined languidly against the crumbling wall of the ancient temple. It was a welcome change after the exhausting events in San Francisco. The universe had been saved and the revelers got to beckon in a new millennium on Earth. Grace had been wonderful too; it was lovely to kiss another living soul. It had been so long since he had experienced that act of affection--such a simple joyous act that described feelings without words. The urge had crossed his mind occasionally in recent regenerations but only fleetingly. This recent change seemed to bring forth a passion long dormant. A fragrant, gentle breeze brought The Doctor back to the present (figuratively speaking). "I never understood why Peri had such fits when I'd bring up this place, she could be frightfully uncurious at times." The bombardment of positive ions, here at the Eye of Orion, were indeed just what the Doctor needed after this most recent and difficult change. "It seemed as if I'd never finish that book," he pondered. Smiling he rubbed his hand against his cheek and spoke aloud in amused tone, "I think it's the first book that's taken two of me to finish!" Setting down the book "The Time Machine" by H.G. Wells on a half buried stone from the ruin, he remembered with mild bemusement the quizzical 

Childlike curiosity of Herbert and the propensity he had to pop up at the most critical moments. In some ways he reminded him of someone else. "Ah well...the minds not what it once was. He could have at least changed some of the names though" the Doctor considered. "I mean, really, some writers just sit back and write as if their describing a cricket match--too verbatim. A little more gray cell workout is what many writers needed. The mind truly is a limitless domain. Karfel, though interesting, is hardly the stuff of fiction. Oh well, the story wasn't all that bad--a bit diverting, with a touch of innocent Victorian charm," The Doctor concluded to himself.

Standing up The Doctor brushed off his pants and straightened his shirtsleeves, scanning the distant horizon. On a hill nearby he clearly could envision Susan when she was still a Time-Tot, soon after he had taken over caring for her following that terrible incident. He too could see Abigail, a woman who hailed from Earth, a woman he had brought here after he had fallen into that most perplexing conundrum--love. The Doctor felt compelled in his new incarnation to record his recollections of incidents that had affected him profoundly in his younger days. His diary which stretched to nearly a thousand years, was no longer written in 

longhand but recorded directly onto a specially coded mobile memory chip which could be stored with his other memoirs in the main memory bank off the central control room. Deep in his thoughts, the Doctor was going over each detail with the clear illumination of a surgeon's lamp. Just as the light from this lamp reveals the 

extent of the malady the surgeon is up against, so the Doctor spared no corner or recess in his mind that held repressed secrets of his long ago love and its repercussions. His regeneration compelled him to revisit and shake free memories from long ago...

"I had met her while on an initially brief holiday from university in Penzance on the coast of Cornwall, England. It was when I was only a hundred and fifteen or so during my very first incarnation, before I became a silver haired man with an elderly visage. This odd anomaly of aging dramatically within one incarnation was usually most pronounced during a first incarnation--usually having much to do with the rapid acquiring of information which creates a stress matched equally by a lack of control and ability to assimilate it all properly that leads to a turmoil in the still developing mind, which in turn leads to a pronounced outward manifestation over time. With each subsequent regeneration, the ability to control this stress improved and personal dilemma's largely remained bottled inside to do battle there-safely hidden. Certainly, in my case, the sad events of this love--unrequited as it turned out--expedited the aging process. Abigail was simply lovely--long straight black hair, brown almond eyes and an intellect that belied her years. She was on holiday herself but not nearly as far from home, merely London. She had a passion for learning and was pursuing a double major, studying ancient civilization and philosophy. We had first locked eyes at a small cafe on the quay. Sipping on a sweet port, I was seated just inside the open door looking out onto the veranda and was 

reading Ouspensky's charming "Tertium Organum--A Key to The Enigma's of the World." How naive but eager I was for information on the various mindsets and opinions on that most perplexing planet--so heartbreakingly sad and violent, with an excess of hate and intolerance, but paradoxically imbued with its flickers of fire and gentle brilliance and the ability the inhabitants had of expressing warmth and compassion. She sat just outside at a small table by herself, long gentle porcelain like fingers occasionally turning the pages in a collection of Aristophones' plays, reprinted in its original archaic Greek, a glass of chardonnay resting in front of her. Her eyes were shaded by a wide brimmed summer hat with a floral patterned scarf trailing off the crown down one of her shoulders. When our eyes first fell on each other the gaze that met mine made me spill my port down my shirtfront as I tried unsuccessfully to look nonchalant. She chuckled lightly to herself before standing up and coming over to my table. "My book must have interested you, may I get you a towel?" Before I could reply she had summoned a waiter and was wiping off the front of my shirt. Finally I stammered, "Well I'm interested in everything but right now what interests me most is you." From there after brief introductions and pleasantries, our conversation flew from subject to subject and theory to theory. I suppose it was bound to come 

out sooner or later that I was schooled not on Earth but at university on Gallifrey but it just didn't seem to matter at the time. We began to take long walks along the warm beach with the cool salty air swirling around us. Overhead, the cry of the terns 

mingled gently with her soft laughter, creating a haunting counterpoint that still reverberates in my mind to this day. Every inquisitive, searching question she had was matched equally with her expansive and challenging theories. As we walked she would constantly look into my eyes seeking opinions and would listen intently to my beliefs and far flung theories (many of which I'd later find to be far from true, others closely approximating my altruistic hopefulness) and I would listen and learn things about Earth culture and philosophy that no professor on Gallifrey could hope to convey with the same detail and passion.

Deciding to stay awhile longer and knowing Abigail didn't start classes again until fall, I rented a cottage just outside of town with a splendid view of the sweeping pasturelands cascading like the silent descent into sleep towards the great Atlantic. One evening, while enjoying a bottle of medoc I had pulled from the small but adequate wine cellar in the TARDIS, standing against a wall in the center of my small living room, (the chameleon circuit on this Type-50A was quite functional and it appeared as a glorious gilt in laid mahogany wardrobe) we were discussing philosophy. Caught up in the conversation as I was, I let slip a quote from Rassilon concerning morality to counter a point made by Plato in The Republic. Abigail stared at me flabbergasted and said, "You care so little about my argument that you make up a fictional person to counter it?" I replied somewhat smugly, "Well, Plato created a fictional society." Abigail, however, was in an intensely focused mood and backtrack as I tried I only found myself 

deeper and deeper in what some Earthlings describe as hot water. Trying to recover my lost credibility in this conversation, I shifted uneasily in my chair and replied, "I merely use that name as a metaphor for the fact that the morality here on Earth is not a constant throughout the universe. If one considers all the cultures on planet Earth, and the various ethical codes inherent in each, then naturally one must multiply this sum a novemdecillion centillion fold, at least, to appreciate the ethical codes inherent in all the cosmos." This concept stilled her momentarily, captivating her deeply and profoundly. Over another bottle of medoc, we discussed, hypothetically, the boundless possibilities that the universe could offer, concerning philosophies and cultures--ancient and living. As our conversation progressed, I found it increasingly difficult not to blurt out, "I know of many cultures, philosophies and ethical codes on planets light centuries from here, all filled with indescribable wonders.

"You know" she said, "it's funny you bring up other worlds. When I first met you, you were reading a book by P.D. Ouspensky. In it there's a chapter titled `The Study of Space' and it concludes `space is either a property of the world or a property of our knowledge of the world.' Well I guess I could say I have no perception of other cultures on other worlds, so anything I've said would be mere speculation because all of my studies are based on 

Earthly concepts. "Yes," I answered looking deeply into her eyes, "but consider in the very next chapter, Ouspensky writes--"The autumn has not yet come. It will be, but it does not exist now. 

And we give no thought to how that can appear which is not. We are moving on a plane and recognize as really existing only the small circle lighted by our consciousness. Everything out of this circle, which we do not see we negate; we do not like to admit it exists.' But I can tell you worlds and cultures do exist, far beyond your wildest imagining, some wonderful, others terrible, all unique." Knowing I had said too much I added, "At least that's what I believe."

Holding her empty wine glass before her eyes, she turned it slowly, staring absently at the distorted light the flames from the fireplace cast through it, before glancing at me with a look of happy resignation--"Now I do wish I could see the universe, to learn about long dead societies and glorious living ones of unfathomable diversity but until I can have Scottie beam me up I'm afraid I'm stranded here on endlessly changing always fascinating Earth."

As I pondered her profound love of knowledge and her desire to know all she could know, she asked as he stood up--"John" (which was a name I frequently used and still do when visiting Earth), "Where do you keep the wine? As I looked up, I was again captivated by her demeanor, her spirit, the fire that flew from her eyes, those eyes that were always seeking, always restless. Somewhat tipsy on the mellow fruit and eagerly thinking up new topics to delight her senses with, I blurted, without thinking, "In the wardrobe." Before I could even form the word "no", she had opened the door and had slipped inside. Thus began the first time 

I heard the words I have now heard uttered ad nauseam--"Why it's bigger on the inside than the outside." Silly explanations that ranged from it being a conjuring trick to lines like "more room than one would expect from an old wardrobe, Hmmm?" fell on deaf ears.

"I always knew there was something you were hiding" she joyously exclaimed. After this unexpected revelation, although I thought it had come far too early, it felt as if a heavy weight had been lifted from my mind. In the weeks that followed, I fell deeply in love with her insatiable curiosity, her unceasing wonder and most of all with that undefinable aspect humans call a soul, assuming she was falling in equal parts in love with me. The new center of her attention, however, in retrospect had undeniably become the TARDIS.

After much planning (it was near Abigail's time to return to university) I told her "there is no reason not to extend our holiday a bit." Abigail's eyes widened, "What, you mean the machine?!" Nodding, I told her of one of the most beautiful places in the universe, The Eye of Orion--how the air was like ambrosia, the sunset like molten gold cascading into a bottomless indigo sea and how the positive ions allowed one to ruminate completely and purely on any thought that took one most. For me it would be the pure unfettered permutations of my deepest conceptions of love. We explored ancient temples, (remnants of the almost mythical Abomegon Alliance) azure pools, watched starshowers that looked like snow falling from the endless abyss of space, and one night, while 

Brave Hearts/9

camping on the shore of Lake Zanibrius near the Plain of Parsimony, far below Mount Occam, (also known somewhat appropriately as Occam's Razor because of its appearance) after a splendid meal I had prepared of hotobus, (a delectable fish caught only there) we conceived our only child.

Word of Abigail's pregnancy did not shock me but caught me a bit unaware. Although it's true other Time Lords had indeed conceived with humans, it was still quite rare. Looking back, I suppose I was drawn to Abigail because of the human compulsions and instincts that I had inherited from my mother, who herself had been human, though I had only seen her a few times when very young, before my education on Gallifrey superseded any other distraction, as my father had put it.

At the time I didn't know what exactly to do, as I was still a student at university, although now on my own volition. It was also true that my propensity towards interaction and my own investigation over what the majority of musty old professors on Gallifrey had to offer, was becoming more and more clear in my mind. With this understood there was still that desire to please father, however impossible that would be, and indeed this was something of a proverbial pickle. Not the child mind you, my heart soared when I had heard of the pregnancy, but besides my own lack of foresight, Abigail began insisting that the child be aborted. Her argument consisted of her fear that because of our different biological makeups that the child would be stillborn or sick in some way. It became clear later that, although the idea of the 

child was initially intriguing, she felt she was thinking more of her own curiosity than the child's welfare. Stubborn, as I had always been, she kept her perceived weakness to herself. At any rate, this created the most terrible rift between us and severed our once living and growing relationship. Many cruel things were said--on both parts, I'm not proud to say, one of which was that I could never match the brilliance inherent in the TARDIS' memory banks nor ever provide the wonders it could. This bitter inflicted wound caused my hearts to nearly close up and force my own premature death but the child kept my vision steady and focus clear. As a token of civility and in respect to what we had, Abigail agreed to give birth to the child and turn custody over to me, which in itself was no easy task, as it involved innumerous, let's say altered, documents to be procured and several painful meetings with Abigail and her father--a proud stubborn man who frowned on the whole affair and never looked upon me except with the gravest of contempt. When the child was born, I was with Abigail for support and when the first cries from the child--a girl--echoed through the delivery room, for a fleeting second our eyes met and fell back to the first moment we ever saw each other so many months before, innocent in each other's eye's, like the first impression of this young soul in the world. We named the baby together, choosing the name Iris. Holding Abigail's hand in the recovery room, I reminded her of the book she was reading on our first meeting. 

"Remember, it was Aristophanes."

"Yes," she replied with a weak smile, "I was reading the play `Birds'."

"Iris, then" I replied smiling, "after all, although we wish to be understood all the time, most of the time our arguments and pleading fall on deaf, or at least disinterested ears." Looking deeply into Abigail's brown intelligent eyes, I quoted a line from the play.

"Where are you from? You might at least say that?" Her ensuing smile showed none of the animosity and recrimination that had haunted and then razed our tender brief unity. She continued, a soft lilt to her voice, with the next line from `Birds', Iris' first line, "From Olympus, and the gods." Smiling at each other we chuckled lowly--it was the first time we had done so together in months.

"Do you know Abigail, I feel as if people look upon me as Pisthetaerus does Iris in that play sometimes. You know, when he asks Iris `What gate did you come in by, when you came?'"

Abigail again took Iris' response, "I'm sure I don't know, sir. Gates indeed." Standing up I bent down and lightly kissed her for the last time, her eyes like reflecting pools after a spring rain. "I'm sorry John" she began, tears welling up in her eyes.

"Just call me Doctor," I joked "After all, I was with you during the delivery." Her face became introspective and distant. "I know I should be different but I have to finish college, I have research that I've planned--you've opened up so many 

possibilities...and your wonderful machine..." Her voice trailed off in a broken manner, revealing embarrassment at her choice of words. "I wish you nothing but the best my dear, nothing but, and know you'll find the world you've always dreamed of." Hesitating at the door of her room, I couldn't help myself and turning said "Definitive and brilliant, yes, your book will enlighten many and open up worlds as I could only dream of doing for you." Before she could reply I disappeared down the hall.

As for Iris, well that is another story completely. Much like me she possessed a free spirit but she was always much more scholarly and intent on applied research, like her mother, who she visited semifrequently. Iris never let anger cloud their unique, and yes, spiritual relationship. Kindred spirits indeed they were. I never kept her in the dark on her mother and she fancied Earth with the keen interest of an insatiable student--"I'm a student of the universe," she used to tell me.

Iris had been on something of a fast track at school, taking abbreviated, if no less difficult and demanding classes. Unlike full blood Time Lords, or even half blooded like myself, her life span could only be double that of an average, say English woman's life span, or around two hundred years. The ability to regenerate ceases when the person is one third or less of Gallifreyan extraction. This has much to do with the regression to one heart this necessarily causes. After finishing her first block at university on Gallifrey, at the age of twenty-five, I gleamed with pride. My daughter had decided to stay with her mother for a 

short time, having found the same love of the English countryside that had so enchanted me as a younger man. While your busy making other plans, though, life has a peculiar habit of sneaking up on you and Iris met a splendid chap name Ewan, a writer living in Edinburgh who was in London visiting his publisher. With the free spirit and studious mind of Iris and the equally free spirited and fanciful fertile imagination of Ewan, they were bound to create fireworks--and they did. They were married (hearts be still) in a traditional Buddhist ceremony. Buddhism being of course a popular Earth religion. Both thought it was a smashing middle ground, as it expressed philosophically most of what they felt of the world and the spirit. 

When Iris visited me one day in my musty, clustered basement research room at the university library, (having graduated only recently, I was still shocked by the drudgery and tedium of pre determined research) it was for the last time. "But what about the rest of your education my dear?" I exclaimed with more than a hint of another couple of fathers I knew in my words. "Father, I'm going to have a baby and I feel it would be best to remain on Earth for the child and Ewan...well, me as well." She blushed and looked at the floor like a bashful Venusian naiad and all I could do was hug her and wish her well--beaming at the thought of a grandchild and overjoyed she had found someone to share part of her life with. When I next visited Iris, she was going into labor and I jumped for joy (although my hips were not what they had once been) upon hearing a girl had been born and that they had named her Susan. I 

only missed seeing Abigail, who was recovering from pneumonia. We only spoke briefly on the phone, referring to each other as grandmother and grandfather, both of us reflecting, I think, on the past. Her voice so far away. 

Soon after the publication of Abigail's major life work (and yes, it was definitive and brilliant) Iris wanted to see her lecture at Cambridge. Young Susan, who was only twelve, said she was feeling rather ill, although honestly, I think the prospect of sitting in a lecture hall all evening made her cringe with acute boredom. As I was on a brief visit, I told Iris and Ewan that I would happily watch my grandchild as they went and watched the lecture. I told Iris, "I'll see it some other time," much to Ewan's confusion. On their way out I told them to be careful driving, as it was raining and the roads were quite slick. 

When the front door closed, Susan flashed a smile at me that revealed her glee at getting away with something. We certainly shared a love for subversive little victories like these. How Susan loved it when I'd regale her with stories that I'd uncovered in the vast Gallifreyan library concerning the Daleks, or "those old pepperpots," as she used to call them. 

This happiness and stability would soon end and my lives altered permanently. A good book in my hands, I sat by the fireplace engrossed, while upstairs Susan was fast asleep when the phone rang around ten thirty. The voice on the other end seemed harsh, short, clinical.

"At nine fifty this evening, sir, Ewan and Iris McGregor and 

one Abigail Lytton were involved in an auto accident, all were dead on arrival. I'm sorry. We understand the McGregor's had a child, would you like a counselor to come by?" I wasn't hearing anymore. "What do you mean Abigail, she wasn't with them."

"She was in the car sir, that's all I know, can't say why."

"How..you must be mistaken..who..how?"

"Drunk driver sir, driving too fast for conditions, ignored a box junction, hit the McGregor's car at around ninety miles per hour. Again, I'm sorry."

I have since faced The Master, Davros, Daleks, Cybermen, Sontarans, The Rani, countless evil foes, but never have I felt so angered, so saddened, felt so helpless as when I heard that Abigail, Iris and Ewan had been killed by such an unthinking selfish man. Anyone who goes down the pub and gets so drunk they have trouble walking, much less driving, but still gets in their car to go home, is only thinking of the immediate satisfaction of their desires and has lost the sense of basic reason. As is the case in so many of these nightmares, he did live and was again privileged to see another sunrise, to look into this daughters eyes filled with the emotion of sadness, which had been permanently stolen from my closest loved ones, along with every other emotion, sense and dream. Damn his lack of judgement and excuse my hearts the liberty of saving Grace and Chang Lee, who's life essences had not yet escaped the TARDIS' grasp.

Anger and sadness fed my resolve to leave the planet with Susan, the planet that had taken so much that I loved. I never 

found out why Abigail was traveling with Iris and Ewan but I've had my suspicions, now locked tightly away. In the aftermath I had decided to return to Gallifrey with Susan, where I thought a new culture and distance would help in the slow painful process of healing such profound wounds. Susan had never before been to Gallifrey and initially it seemed to be just the elixir for her ravaged heart and soul--and mine. Indeed, Susan would in time tell people that she had been born on Gallifrey. It seemed to be a defense mechanism, a safety valve against the pain caused by the death of her parents on Earth. To simply say she was from another world precluded the necessity to bring up painful memories. In many ways I think it actually became her chosen reality. Once back on Gallifrey, I busied myself showing Susan all the museums, libraries, government buildings, fountains and parks that the Capitol and planet had to offer. I showed he where I had grown up and the university I had attended, along with my office deep within the vast university library. She met my father but she never got past her impression that he was "too serious and kind of creepy." Yes, Susan was even enrolled in the Time Tot Junior Study Program, although she found that the majority of her fellow students were about as fun and interesting as watching paint dry, as she put it in her own idiosyncratic Earth-like way. Uniformity seemed to have replaced the wonderful diversity she had so cherished at school in London. Although I never appreciated the general lack of individualism amongst most of my counterparts, I thought the lessons and some of the professors she would in time encounter, 

like the wonderful Azmael, would do her mind worlds of good. Many classes taught on Gallifrey are taught nowhere else in N or E 

space. All in all there was no reason for me to suspect a decision had been made concerning Susan and I at all, until, upon our return from a visit to my beloved Eye of Orion, (which Susan adored) I was summoned from my office to the High Council chambers--something I had up to that time never been called upon to do. Standing in front of those imposing figures clad in traditional High Council robes, I was told, in no uncertain terms, by chancellor Veggan (immediate predecessor to Flavia) "Your actions have been under scrutiny for some time now. We held off on summoning you earlier to allow you time to grieve and to properly introduce your Susan to Gallifreyan society. However, you have interfered with other's lives as your privileged family has done in the past. It is a disturbing trend. Your own daughter and granddaughter are striking examples of your interference in the lives of others, which is strictly prohibited by Gallifryan law, as you should know. Both you and your granddaughter, who seems to share some of your proclivities, must not be allowed to ever interfere in the lives of others, especially outside of the realm of Gallifrey. Therefore we are prohibiting permanently your use of any type of TARDIS on Gallifrey--except of course the pre-set Type 10C public travel TARDIS for pre-determined Gallifrey locations. Failure to abide by this ruling will cause your immediate incarceration and your care of Susan will be forfeit. Her care will be turned over to a Time Lord Guardian. Do you understand this ruling?"

My body quivered with anger, I felt like a child being punished, and I was the one who had suffered so great a loss, not these fence sitting pen pushers. "Ruling indeed, I didn't realize this was a trial. This is outrageous and diabolical but I see quite clearly you leave me little choice." My eyes diverted from Chancellor Veggan to the floor and my shoes. "So yes...yes I understand your position and the consequences if I fail to abide." That's all I could reply to this outrage, but the renegade that had lain partially dormant within me thrust to the forefront of my consciousness. Sometimes when running away from a problem in one direction one finds that the other direction offers only a brick wall that stops one dead in their tracks. In such a predicament desperate measures are sometimes necessary.

Not wanting to attract any unwanted attention and to appear to any inquiring eyes that I was respecting the High Council's decision, I walked back to my office at university. A plan had already been hastily sketched out in my brain. When Susan arrived in my chamber after classes, she headed across the room and slumped ungracefully into a dusty overstuffed armchair near my hat rack. "What's wrong child, bored of Gallifrey already?" Although we had only been on Gallifrey for a little under a year it was easy to see that much of the original luster of the planet had worn off in her eyes. "It's not that grandfather it's just...well..." Standing up from my desk I walked over to the hat rack and grabbed my astrakhan hat, "What's wrong my dear, cat got you tongue. Hmm?" Letting Susan know things were not as bad as they seemed I let out a quick 

reassuring chuckle. "Well that won't do--no,no,no. I think a rather longer trip than our last is just what we need, eh?"

Susan jumped up and hugged me tightly. Smiling I looked into 

her bright young face, "Well my girl here's what we're to do..." Outlining my plan, Susan listened intently with a glint of fire in her eyes. The plan was actually rather simple. Near the rear of the Rasillon Time/Space Research Control Center, was a maintenance entrance that was rarely guarded and usually open for deliveries and refuse removal. I knew the building well from my Time Tot days when I'd skip the occasional class to sneak around and catch the latest TARDIS model being tested or obsolete model being dismantled. Once in this rear door, we would need to climb into a ventilation shaft which would lead us directly into the repair and disassembly warehouse, where TARDIS' were given a battery of tests to see what needed tuning or replacement or were otherwise deemed completely obsolete or debilitated and were officially retired and scrapped. Well, the first leg was easy enough. Susan and I strolled leisurely, as if on a mere constitutional and then into the heavy bushes separating the rear of the Research Control Center from Omega Fountains, a central park area. A bit rickety by that point in my first incarnation, it took me a bit of finagling to get into that vent. Sadly I've seen to many since. When we emerged into the warehouse, what initially seemed deserted proved otherwise. It was no more than thirty paces to the center of the room, where two TARDIS' stood. A Type 60, merely in for routine repairs and a rather rickety Type 40, which seemed as if it were to be officially retired by the looks of the equipment perched aside and over it. We began strolling towards these as I cast furtive glances from side to side. Susan's arm was wrapped around mine, her other hand holding my coat sleeve as we edged cautiously closer, when suddenly a voice shot through us from the far end of the warehouse-"Halt!" A quick glance over my shoulder confirmed my suspicion--a Gallifrayan Security Officer on his regular rounds had spotted us. Looking at Susan's wide eyed expression staring back at me I said "Act like you own the place my dear." The security offer was having none of this and we heard his footsteps scurrying quickly in pursuit. "Halt" his voice repeated breathlessly, "or I'll be forced to fire!" By now we were almost upon the nearest machine--the Type 40. The urgency of the situation prevented our attempt at borrowing the Type 60. On a nozzle of a huge Scorazabad statue (a realistic interpretation of a rather indelicate mythological Gallifreyan creature with ten heads and sixty or so hairy nozzle like appendages--the shape the Chameleon Circuit had chosen on this TARDIS' last use) hung the key, which was in the shape of a Scorazabad tooth. Hastily I grabbed this and frantically yelled at Susan to find the Scorazabad head with the missing cuspid. Our pursuer was literally upon us when Susan shouted; "it's here grandfather." Charging the five steps to a head leering towards the ground, I inserted the tooth in the gap Susan was pointing at. Immediately two of the necks craned backward revealing the TARDIS' entrance. With the desperate hope of escape combined with surging adrenaline, we charged headlong into the 

opening and Susan leapt towards the console hitting the closing mechanism just as the officer was at the threshold of the door firing a red piercing laser blast from his weapon, which hit the console sending sparks and smoke flying. "Oh dear, Oh dear" I 

stammered as Susan helped me to my feet. "I haven't seen one of these old things since my father's day...now if I remember correctly, and hoping that blast didn't damage the dematerialization circuit, I need only push this button and this one." Vibrating and groaning the room suddenly came alive--the transparent control column of the central console began to rise and fall methodically. Outside a loud VWORP, VWORP sound left the security officer staring at a blank space where the hideous Scorazabad once stood. Immediately I destabilized the Gallifrayan tracking device, realizing this was only a temporary solution for evading a quick capture. And so my travels as a renegade in time and space began as a desperate bid to escape what amounted to a life sentence on one rather conservative world. That of course was so very long ago. 

My walk through the past has led me intuitively to a very special place. Kneeling by the waterside I find myself staring into the deep blue water of Lake Zenebrius. Some people and creatures of the universe say they can see the face of a loved one in the water when they stare in it, and here at this placid lake, when I allow myself to slip into a reverie, there are always two faces smiling back at me. 


End file.
